


Ping Pong, With Words

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Inspired by artwork, Point of view is all over the place, Safe For Tortitudette, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22390771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: Tom and B’Elanna argue then they make up. What’s different about that?
Relationships: Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Engineering Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/553255) by AutumnChild22. 



> This little bit of nothing was inspired by a comic strip I spotted on Tumblr by the incredible artist, AutumnChild22. In it, Lyssa Campbell and Vorik observe and react while Tom and B’Elanna have an argument in the middle of engineering. AutumnChild says that she headcanons that they do this regularly, and loudly, much to the discomfort of B’Elanna’s paralyzed staff. 
> 
> Now, while I agree that P/T occasionally disagree—strongly—I have a hard time imagining that B’Elanna, who hates to be gossiped about or stared at, would instigate an argument somewhere so public. But, it’s all in good fun, and the idea was too good to pass up. Some of the dialogue comes from the strip, and judging from B’Elanna’s wavy hair, I’d say it’s set sometime in s6.
> 
> As I said in the tags it’s unbetaed so be warned. I’m not positive that I made my way to the resolution but I’ve washed my hands of it.

The console hummed its acquiescence as Ensign Lyssa Campbell tapped in a series of commands. The display on her viewscreen changed to a sinusoidal graph, and her mouth puckered as she studied the amplitude shift of the blue wave pattern. The warp plasma was still running a little hot. Not enough for alarms to go off and coolant to start billowing out into main engineering in great clouds of noxious gas, but the ratio was a little high, and she knew that the boss wouldn’t be happy when she told her. 

She _hmmed_ softly and turned her head, raising her voice as she called out, “Vorik? Do you have my—” 

“Right here, Ensign.” 

He spoke from behind her, his smooth, deep voice coming from somewhere near her left elbow. A padd appeared under her nose, and Lyssa reached for it, allowing her fingers to glide over Vorik’s as she accepted it. She tilted her head at an angle and glanced upward, catching his gaze. Her eyes squinted slightly as the corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile. “Like you read my mind,” she said. 

His right eyebrow rose by a centimetre. “Ensign, you know that Vulcans do not ‘read’ the minds of other species. We are not telepaths in the conventional sense.” 

Her lips twitched. “Now how did I know you were going to say that?” she teased. 

Vorik inclined his head. “Perhaps it is you who are a telepath?” he suggested. “Do you have an Ocampan ancestor?” 

Bullshit that Vulcans didn’t have a sense of humour! “You’re the one with the pointed ears,” she teased. She bit her lip to hold in a laugh and swung her chair back around in time to see Tom Paris walk into engineering. He paused just beyond the doors’ sensor and glanced around, nodding when his gaze swept over her and Vorik. Lyssa nodded back and sent him a little smile of acknowledgement. If Lieutenant Paris were here, it must be lunch time. Her stomach rumbled, right on cue. 

Her eyes slid to where the boss was bent over a console at the outer ring of the warp core, not ten metres from the station she and Vorik were currently manning. Paris noticed B’Elanna a moment later, and Lyssa saw the expression on his face morph from neutral, to reticent, to resolved before he squared his shoulders and started toward her. Interesting. Was it time for their monthly public argument already? Damn. She had three replicator rations on next Tuesday at 15:45. 

She watched as Paris put a hand to B’Elanna’s shoulder and saw her body jerk in surprise before she straightened, her face warming with a smile when she saw him. “Tom! …ou’re ‘bout seven hours early…’inner.” 

“Umm, yeah.” 

B’Elanna had turned back to her console and was busy keying in commands. Lyssa couldn’t catch all of her next words, but managed to hear ‘lunch’ and ‘diagnostic’. She assumed that the word ‘busy’ was in there, too. She leaned forward a little and managed to catch ‘shift’ and ‘tonight’.

“About that.” Paris looked pained. Or like he expected to be the recipient of pain any minute now. 

“What?” B’Elanna straightened, and Lyssa could see that she was trying to suppress a small, happy smile. Uh-oh. That might not last long.

“I… have to cancel dinner,” Paris said. 

Bingo. B’Elanna’s smile melted away and was replaced with a confused frown. Her hands balled into fists and landed on her hips. Lyssa grimaced. Uh-oh, indeed. 

“Again? Why this time?” 

Her hands were moving upward now as she folded her arms across her chest. Never a good sign. Ever. Vorik leaned down and commented, _sotto voce_ , “I believe you are about to lose your replicator rations.” Lyssa quieted him with a sharp, “Shhhush!” and leaned forward a smidge. 

“Didn’t she just have a birthday?” 

“Yeah, a year ago,” Paris huffed. “B’Elanna, I can’t ask her to work beta shift on her birthday, come on.” 

“...’ourse you ‘an. You’re…’oss.”

Lyssa leaned forward a little more, putting her hand on the console for balance. It _beep!_ ed its objection, and she quickly glanced down and tapped a correction then looked back up again. She didn’t think she’d missed anything important.

Paris flung his arms wide, hands open in an ‘oh, come on!’ gesture. “I honestly can’t believe you’re annoyed about this!”

Oh no. Such a misstep so early in the game! He really should know better by now. B’Elanna’s jaw firmed as she leaned toward him. Annnnd… yes? Yes. Her hand shot upward and formed an abbreviated fist. _The Finger of Wrath!_ She shook said finger in Paris’ face. Lyssa sucked-in her bottom lip, to keep it clear from flying knuckles and _airborne_ pilots. 

“Oh, I’m annoyed alright,” B’Elanna said, her voice rising. “The one night we both have free. And you’re telling me you have an extra shift on the bridge?”

“Chakotay ordered me to find a replacement for Tricia so she could have the day off. What am I supposed to do, tell him no?”

“No, you’re supposed to find a replacement! One who isn’t you.” Lyssa was having absolutely no trouble hearing every word of their conversation now… “You are the head of your department,” B’Elanna said, “act like one. Find someone else to fill in tonight.”

“I can’t do that now. I can’t expect someone to just drop their plans for the evening at the last minute.” 

“You expect me to!”

Lyssa winced. What she wouldn’t give to see the look in B’Elanna’s eyes. Unfortunately, she’d taken a step to the right and had hemmed in Paris against the warp core railing and Lyssa could only see her profile. 

“I don’t know, Tom.” B’Elanna drawled. “It’s your department. If your staff can’t function as a team and fill in—”

The expression on Paris’ face was easy to see. “So, what are you saying? That my department is _dys_ -functional? That _I’m dysfunctional_?” he huffed. “B’Elanna! You think—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Paris,” Lyssa muttered. Her hand slipped and the console objected with a sharp _beep boop!_

“I’m just saying it’s one hell of a coincidence that the first time in weeks we have a night off together, you’re suddenly desperately needed on the bridge.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is all about!” Paris crossed his arms over his chest and took on a smug expression. 

“What?” B’Elanna shook her head in confusion.

“Chakotay. Like you said, it’s the first time in weeks we both have a night off. And he does make up the duty roster.”

“Ha! Now I know you’re delusional.” B’Elanna’s tone was dismissive, and Tom’s features hardened. Oopsie. 

Lyssa glanced at Vorik and found him looking back at her. Their eyes locked for a moment, his shadowed by the downward pull of his eyebrows. Vulcans could have whole conversations with their eyebrows and the set of their mouth alone. Paris shot something back, but Lyssa missed it when her console gave off a tonal humm advising her that the diagnostic that she’d requested a few minutes ago was finished. She keyed in the command to make it shut the hell up so she didn’t miss any more of the argument. 

“Is that so…” B’Elanna hissed. She shot a quick glance around the room. “Well…” Her voice lowered dramatically and she grabbed Tom by one arm and hauled him a little closer toward her office. Damn.

“I had everything planned.” Paris swung his free hand toward the doors that led to the corridor beyond engineering. “I even persuaded Harry to give us his holodeck time--”

“Did you really?”

Not the sound of a girlfriend who believed a word her boyfriend was saying… 

“What, you don’t believe me? …‘bout you ask Harry?”

“Ha! Typical Tom Paris behaviour. Get Harry to cover for you. ...ask Chakotay!” B’Elanna’s chin was up and ready for a fight, and _The Finger of Wrath!_ was back. 

Here we go again, Lyssa thought. When they invoked Harry Kim or the commander in an argument, it wasn’t going to end happily. Or soon. She wondered how long it would be this time before they made up. They always made up. Some things just _were_ : _Voyager’s_ nose was pointed, more or less, toward home, some random alien would appear and wreak havoc semi regularly, Neelix would never run out of leeola root, and Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres always made up. So far. 

“You know, you’ve cancelled plans on me before. It’s not always me,” Paris countered.

Lyssa had to give him points for the calm, almost-but-not-quite-non-snippy delivery of that comment.

“I’m the chief engineer, Tom. Sometimes I have to put in some extra time, oversee some—”

“Sure. Of course. Because your job is _soooo_ much more important than mine: the guy who flies the ship.” 

Lyssa winced. Now he just sounded petulant. 

B’Elanna stared at him for a long moment then snapped her jaw shut with an almost audible click. She exhaled loudly through her nose. Paris tilted his head. His mouth was pressed closed in a thin, unforgiving line, his face pinched in a frown. He refrained from rolling his eyes. Barely. 

B’Elanna glanced around engineering again, and Lyssa dropped her attention to the readout on her console. She felt Vorik shift behind her, and he suddenly bent over the console and picked up the forgotten padd and made a show of reading it and comparing its information to that on her console display. 

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere a little more private, like in my office,” B’Elanna suggested, her tone dripping false solicitousness. 

Paris nodded tightly before opening his mouth to reply. “I'd suggest we use mine but, oh!” He widened his eyes as if a brilliant, but obvious, thought had just occurred to him. “That’s right; I don’t have one.” He folded his arms across his chest as his voice dipped in a display of peevishness. 

B’Elanna’s lips thinned. “Fine,” she said. She stormed across the room, head held high, back ramrod straight. Paris cursed under his breath and followed her toward her office. 

Lyssa glanced at Vorik again and, again, found him observing her. She refrained from smiling though she did widen her eyes slightly and raise her eyebrows. She was glad that her relationship with Vorik wasn’t half as dysfunctional as B’Elanna’s with Tom Paris. 

*** 

B’Elanna walked briskly toward her office, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Tom admired the line of her back and the way the fabric of her uniform slacks pulled against her very fine ass as she walked. Stomped. He tried not to smile; it would ruin the mood they’d worked so hard to contrive. They’d had their first public fight six months ago then had shared a very private apology and reconciliation in her quarters. The argument had been over something stupid of course, more an expression of their frustration with being stuck on _Voyager_ and with Starfleet proceedure than with each other. He didn’t quite remember what it was about, just that he’d been in the middle of it before he’d realized that it had begun. 

They’d been in the corridor outside her quarters, and she’d stormed inside, closing the door in his face. He’d stomped down the corridor in a huff but later that afternoon he’d come knocking on her door bearing flowers and a sincere regret for his part in the argument. She’d let him in, thankfully. And their argument had been a catalyst for some very, very good make-up sex, so he hadn’t considered it such a bad thing, after all. He’d told her so, after their second make-up session, after he’d caught his breath. He was kidding of course, but B’Elanna had grinned at him, called him _ensign_ in that low, sexy, sultry voice of hers, and wondered aloud about whether the crew believed that they fought all the time. He’d mused that if they always made up _this way_ it would be worth it.

Of course, a few weeks later, when B’Elanna had discovered that Seven was studying them as part of her research on human mating behaviour, and had written about the argument and the make-up sex, Tom had had to produce more than a fistful of roses to calm B’Elanna down. But after he had, they’d both admitted that it was a little funny: the looks on the faces of the crew in the mess who had witnessed the argument with Seven, the way everyone had steered clear of both of them for days not sure if they were still upset. The way no one would look either of them in the eye.

His arms had been wrapped around her, her head on his shoulder and her hand travelling south when B’Elanna had surprised him by suggesting they have a public argument every once in a while. She’d been joking, but the more they discussed it, the more they liked the idea—mostly to throw off Seven’s research and skew any conclusions she might have about their relationship. Tom’s inner devil, always up for a bit of fun, had perked up at the suggestion, and he’d talked B’Elanna into it. Why not? Life on _Voyager_ could be mind-numbingly boring when it wasn’t terrifying. A fake argument every month or so would shake things up on the ship. 

And so, every four or five weeks, they argued. In the mess hall, or in engineering, or coming out of the holodeck. They always checked first to make sure they had an audience. He knew there was a line on when and where their next argument would be, but he’d refrained from placing a bet. He’d joked about it to Harry, suggesting he could go through him, but Harry had frowned so mightily at the suggestion that Tom thought he was trying to look Klingon himself. Harry didn’t find their arguments amusing at all. 

The door to B’Elanna’s office whooshed shut behind him and before she could turn around Tom slid his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest in an embrace. He grasped her wrists with his opposite hands, pinning her arms to her body and holding her tightly. She leaned back against him and tilted her head to the side as he skimmed his mouth up her neck towards her ear. 

“How was that?” he asked. “Think they bought it?” 

He loosened his grip on her wrists, and B’Elanna turned inside the circle of his arms and looped her own around his neck as she stretched up for a kiss. He meant to give her a quick peck on the lips and a little snuggle before stepping away from her, but the warmth and softness of her mouth, the familiar feel of her body against his, made Tom hang onto her and keep her in place. She seemed to agree, and she pulled him closer as their kiss deepened. After more than a year together, he knew her: she was excited, and more than a little aroused. Their pseudo argument a few minutes ago appeared to have riled her up a little, heated her blood. For a brief moment Tom had wondered if he’d actually started to piss her off, but if he had, she’d apparently forgiven him. Which would have been perfectly fine if they’d been in her quarters. Or his. Or almost anywhere private that wasn’t her office. 

He knew what was coming.

B’Elanna groaned theatrically and ended their kiss. She grazed her teeth along his jaw, nuzzling his ear and throat before she pulled back and rested her forehead on his shoulder with a sigh. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“Why not?” His words were a tempting whisper in her ear, and she smiled. 

“Because we’re in my office and right outside that door are twenty of my staff.” She caught his eyes and widened hers to impress upon him that she was serious. “I want them to respect me, not take bets on whether or not we’re going at it on my desk.” 

Tom grinned. “They both respect and fear you. If I had an office I would absolutely want us to make out on my desk.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear again, “I’d think about it every time I wrote a report.” He flashed her a wicked grin then tried for another kiss. She snorted and thumped him on the shoulder, and he let her go. She stepped back and away and turned toward the desk in question as she reached for a padd. 

“You’re going to meet me after my bridge shift?”

Her head snapped up and she turned back toward him. “You’re really working tonight? I thought you’d…” 

He frowned, confused. “You thought I’d what, exactly?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, delegate maybe?” Her eyebrows rose, signifying her surprise. “You’re really taking this extra shift?” 

“Yes.” Tom frowned and reached for her arm, and she sidestepped out of his reach. 

“It didn’t occur to you to assign someone else to fill in for Jenkins?”

“B’Elanna, I’m the chief conn officer. I’m not going to make someone take a shift just because I had plans with you.” 

“So, you can’t delegate?” she pressed.

She shook her head, and he was conscious of the thought that she was behaving a wee bit immaturely for _Voyager’s_ chief engineer. “Chakotay asked me to take it. Look.” Tom took a step toward her effectively pinning her against her desk, and cupped her shoulders in his warm palms. “I get off at midnight. How about I meet you at oh zero zero two and we can pick up where we just left off?” 

“You really think you can get from the bridge to deck nine in two minutes?” The corner of her mouth tugged upward, and she raised an eyebrow that was slightly less irritated and somewhat more forgiving that it was a minute ago. She was thawing, warming toward him again. He was, in his patented cajoling way, winning her over and shifting her out of her nascent bad mood. 

Of course, he had to ruin it. 

“Actually,” he purred, his eyes twinkling with a soft glow, “I thought you could wait in my quarters for me.” He smiled, all that cocky Tom Paris self assurance evident in a twitch of his mouth.

B’Elanna’s eyebrow came back down toward her nose. She jerked away from him in a full body twitch. “And what am I supposed to do while I’m hanging around in your quarters all evening, count your vest collection?”

Tom froze, then frowned. He knew she wasn’t a fan of his treasured vest collection. “Well, I…” He floundered. “I thought you would do something with Harry, maybe. Grab some dinner and then play some hoverball. Then I thought you’d probably just read reports or something until I was off.” 

“Reports?” 

He’d often complained when she would spend her off hours reading systems reports instead of paying attention to him, so he could understand her confusion. But it wasn’t the reports, per se, that irritated him. “Sure,” he explained. “You can catch up.” He gained confidence as he spoke, and his agile mind quickly lit on an idea that he _thought_ was going to pull his ass out of the fire of her wrath. He read wariness in her eyes but plunged ahead anyway. “Or, you could take a long hot bath, slip into something comfortable while you wait…?” He shot her his patented Tom Paris lethal smile. 

Her lips parted but she hesitated before she spoke, and he read her disappointment in her expression. 

“I’d prefer it if you just came to my quarters.” 

Tom lost some of his smug confidence as irritation skittered up his spine. “And left after a couple of hours?”

B’Elanna sighed. “Tom, we’ve discussed this. It’s just easier if we start the day in our own quarters.” 

His hands slipped off of her shoulders, and he straightened and pulled away from her. “You know, it’s really not that difficult to replicate another toothbrush. A hairbrush. Leave a spare uniform in my closet…” He tried that patented Paris grin again and an eyebrow waggle, for flare. “You can wear my underwear.” 

“Tom…”

“Come on, B’Elanna, what are you afraid of? That people will figure out that we’re dating and we have sex? Really, really great sex.” He bumped her with his hip and she wobbled a little. Unfortunately, her resolve didn’t wobble one iota.

Her head jerked up. Her chin firmed. “I just don’t feel comfortable waltzing out of your quarters at seven in the morning, that’s all.”

“But it’s perfectly fine when I skulk out of yours at oh three hundred?” Tom’s eyebrows flew toward his hairline, and his jaw firmed: the exact reaction he’d been faking in front of her staff a few minutes ago. “Are we actually arguing about this?” he asked.

Her mouth dropped open at that. “It looks like we are,” she confirmed. 

Tom puffed a breath and looked away. _Do not roll your eyes. Do not roll your eyes. Do not roll your eyes._ Her frustrated explosion of breath drew his attention back to her face. 

“For God’s sake, Tom. Half of _Voyager’s_ crew compliment reports directly to me! I don’t just want their respect, I need it in order to keep my department running.” 

“And they’ll suddenly lose respect for you if you sleep over at my place once in a while? Jesus, B’Elanna, you’re not Janeway. You don’t have to be some impenetrable fortress in order to command.” He jabbed a finger toward the door, indicating the engineering deck and the people beyond. “No one out there is going to respect you any less because they happen to see you coming out of my quarters in the morning. Or if we walk into the mess together for breakfast!”

Her chin jerked up at that, and she folded her arms across her chest. The _Torres Wall_ that none shall breach. He reached for her arm but thought better of it and let his hand drop. He tried his last-ditch attempt to make her see sense. “For Pete’s sake, even Vorik has a girlfriend. Everyone knows and no one cares.” Which wasn’t strictly true: he cared. Because it meant that there wouldn’t be a repeat of _The Incident That Will Never Be Discussed_. Lyssa could handle Vorik’s next bout of the _Vulcan flu_. 

Tom stared at B’Elanna for a full five seconds, taking in the tight line of her mouth and the stubborn set of her jaw before looking down at the deck and shaking his head. “Are you at least going to join me and Harry for lunch?” He knew the answer before he asked. 

She turned away from him and picked up a PADD lying on her desk. “I told you, I’m in the middle of a diagnostic.” 

Her tone was flat. Dismissive. The discussion was over. Tom sucked in his cheeks and stared at the back of her head for a few more moments before releasing his breath in a sigh. He turned and left her office without another word. As he strode briskly out of engineering, he didn’t have to fake his frustration this time. 

*

B’Elanna turned her head slightly and watched Tom storm out the door. He was such a—

She closed her eyes and expelled a frustrated _whoosh_ of air, tightening her grip on the PADD so she didn’t throw it. She was twitching, the muscles in her back and shoulders seizing and releasing in quick jerks. She felt like an irritated cat.

It figured that their little game of bait and snap, meant to add a little spark to their relationship, had, of course, turned into an actual argument. An old argument. He’d been on her to allow him to spend the night in her quarters almost since they’d started dating. Been surprised, actually when she’d insisted he leave after the first time they’d made love. Been disappointed every time she’d left his bed in the middle of the night and dressed again. 

He didn’t understand. _Ensign_ Tom Paris didn’t give a rat’s ass what people thought of him. No, that wasn’t strictly true, but his storied career had so many ups and downs that it resembled the latest spectral analysis of the plasma flow. Hers, however, had seen a steady climb from failing student to valued Maquis, to chief engineer of _Voyager_... 

Not that Janeway would replace her with Joe Carey if she threw discretion to the wind and slept over at Tom’s place, but… 

She took her position seriously. Very seriously. And she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Tom that she needed her crew to respect her. She knew they were still the subject of occasional speculation and gossip amongst the crew, and yes, the little show they’d just put on certainly wouldn’t draw attention away from them, but… That was different. It was fake, a performance. It wasn’t real. _Hadn’t been real_ until Tom had pushed her. 

Tom’s comment about her being afraid that people would realize that they were having really great sex rose to mind, and she scowled. In fact, that was exactly what she was afraid of. Obviously, their relationship wasn’t a secret. Hadn’t been two minutes after their first, official kiss. And thanks to Seven’s ‘observations’ and _Voyager’s_ thin walls, she knew, logically, that the physical side of said relationship wasn’t exactly a secret. 

But moving her things into Tom’s quarters was a bit more of a public step than she was willing to take. If she thought people gossiped about them now… 

She’d never actually _slept_ with anyone before. Not with Max, not with the handful of men she’d been with during the years after she’d left the Academy. Not in the Maquis. Sex had been a recreational stress buster. A response to loneliness or fear or drunken desperation. That was all. But sex with Tom was more than that, and it scared the living shit out of her whenever she thought about it. So she didn’t think about it. 

It was possible that just maybe he didn’t see any significance to her leaving her things at his place. Maybe his quarters, or lodgings, or dorm room had been littered with the personal possessions of a dozen (or more) past girlfriends. Maybe, if she searched his quarters tonight, while he was on the bridge, she’d find something of Megan Delaney’s that she’d left behind. Maybe, to Tom, them having an occasional sleep-over was just logical. Simple. Maybe, to him, it didn’t harbour any deeper meaning than having time for a morning quickie before they had to get ready for their shifts. 

She’d known what she was doing when she’d started this… thing with Tom. Known his reputation. Known how their being involved might reflect on her. But that wasn’t fair. His reputation had been only that for at least six months before he’d made his interest in her obvious. And she’d occasionally wondered—when she’d looked up from a PADD and caught him staring at her—just exactly when that interest had started. 

And maybe she was overthinking everything! She sighed again and stared at the padd clutched in her hand. A red light blinked hopefully on its screen. She scowled at it and chucked it onto her desk. 

***


	2. Chapter 2

“ _URRRGGGHHHH!_ ” 

Harry lunged, leaping in front of her, his fist solidly connecting with the ball while his feet were still off the ground. The momentum of his swing spun him sideways, forcing his left shoulder into her face. She had to jerk backward to avoid being hit on the nose. He was still twirling as his foot landed on the floor and he overbalanced, and B’Elanna took advantage of his being off-kilter to rush past him and tap the ball toward his corner of the court. He staggered backward a few steps, then landed on his butt with a grunt near the foul line. The ball bounced off the wall just inside his home zone and lit up in a rainbow of blues and reds and yellows, signaling that she’d just scored a point. 

“Ha! Seventeen to two, starfleet,” she crowed. “Let’s go again.” She swung her arms is exaggerated arcs in an attempt to loosen up her shoulders. 

The ball whizzed back to the starting position at centre court and blinked to show that it had reset. B’Elanna bounced up and down on her toes and looked down at her friend, still seated on the floor of the court. She extended a hand, offering to pull him up to his feet. “C’mon, Harry, you can still take me.” 

“Why don’t you just get it over with and kill me quickly?” he groused. He flopped down onto his back, knees tented, his helmet smacking against the padded floor, and threw an arm over his eyes. B’Elanna poked his hip with her sneakered foot. 

“Quitting, Harry?” 

“Yeah, while I still have a head.” He lifted his arm a fraction and peered up at her, his eyes slitted. “You guys didn’t have another fight did you?”

“Why do say that?”

“I dunno. It seems like you’re always arguing lately. You say something, then he says something.”

“We don’t argue that much,” she scoffed.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe,” he acceded. “Half the time it doesn’t even sound like a real argument anyway, it’s more like ping pong, except instead of a ball you guys use words. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sometimes, I think you enjoy it.” 

She snorted at that. “Well, I never told him it would be easy to live with a Klingon.”

One corner of Harry’s mouth twisted in a little smile. Generally speaking, she was the most un-Klingonlike Klingon he’d ever met. Of course, she was the only Klingon he’d ever met. “So,” he asked, “what did Tom do to piss you off, anyway?” 

B’Elanna started and glanced away from him. “What makes you think he did anything?” she countered. 

Harry snorted a laugh. “My concussion? Cracked rib? Internal bleeding? Take your pick.” 

Her lips twitched in a smile. “Your helmet prevents concussion.” Maybe. It was supposed to, anyway. And besides, she hadn’t hit him _that_ hard. 

“Is it that bridge shift tonight?” Harry asked, “Because I know he didn’t want to take it.” 

“Hmmph. Sure.” B’Elanna paced to the side of the court, and turned and thumped her back against the wall. The padding took a bit of the theatrics out of her gesture. 

“Yeah. He told me at lunch that I could have my holodeck time back, then he changed the subject. When he’s quiet about something, that’s when I know he’s upset.” 

B’Elanna had been scuffing the floor with the toe of her sneaker, watching her foot as it arced and poked at the rubbery surface, but she looked up at that. Did Tom get quiet when he was angry? They’d had enough disagreements, real and fake, that she knew he very rarely raised his voice. 

But… Harry was right. How had she not noticed before that Tom reigned in his anger? His disappointment? Well, that wasn’t strictly true: she had noticed, but she’d thought he was being cautious of her own temper. That he’d been afraid to say what he thought because he was trying to defuse her own tendency to overreact. And every time he did it, it had pissed her off even more. 

Damn.

“What… what exactly did he say?”

“At lunch?” Harry shrugged. “Just that your since dinner tonight was cancelled, I could have my time back. I was on the bridge when Chakotay commed him in sickbay so I already knew he had to work beta shift tonight.” 

“Chakotay commed Tom?” She tried to remember what she’d said to Tom. Had she accused him of lying about that part and volunteering for the shift? Of grabbing any excuse to cancel their evening?

“Yeah. As soon as Baytart mentioned that it was Tricia’s birthday, Chakotay said she shouldn’t have to work tonight and ordered Tom to take the shift. He tried to argue, said he had plans, but Chakotay cut him off. Used the ‘it’s your department, Ensign, it’s your responsibility’ line. Pretty heavy on the rank, too. To be honest, I think he enjoyed it.”

“What did Tom say to that?” She already had an idea.

Harry sat up and looked at her. “Nothing. For a few seconds, anyway, then ‘yes, sir’. What else could he say? You know, he didn’t offer to give me back my replicator rations.” 

Harry smiled and reached out a hand, hinting that she should pull him up. She pushed-off the wall and moved closer to him. “You really thought he would?” She clasped his hand in both of hers and heaved.

“I hoped.” He grunted as he got to his feet and winced a bit as he rolled a shoulder. “Said he had your dinner already programmed in the replicator and it would keep until next week when you had another evening free.” 

“Really?” It was true: she was about to transition to beta shift for the next seven days while Tom was on alpha. Unless she got up early and had lunch with him, or he stayed up late to have a midnight dinner with her, she wouldn’t be able to spend any real time with him for the foreseeable future. She frowned.

“Yeah. It sounded pretty lavish too. He needed my rations for the dessert and flowers.” Harry cocked his head and grinned. “Tonight isn’t some anniversary that I don’t know about, is it?”

They headed toward the exit and B’Elanna creased her forehead in thought. Not that she could remember. Not their first kiss. And not their anniversary which was, arguably, the same day as their first kiss and the first time they’d made love… It wasn’t even the anniversary of the _incident_ on Sakari. She shook her head. 

Harry shrugged again. “Maybe he just wanted to have a nice, quiet, romantic dinner with you. He said it’s the first time you both had a night off in forever.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

“Coming to the mess? Since I’m out of rations.” Harry waited a moment before adding, “I’m sure whatever Neelix made won’t be as extravagant as whatever Tom dreamed up, but I’m willing to risk it. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

He peered at her, concern creasing his forehead, and she smiled and bumped his upper arm with her shoulder. “Sure. I’d love to.” He turned away from her but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Harry.” 

He raised his eyebrows, perplexed. “Sure. Any time.” 

She smiled as she linked her arm with his and they headed toward the lift.

*** 

Tom keyed his code into the door pad, and dragged himself into his quarters. He set his combadge on his desk beside the computer, toed off his boots, then headed directly for the bathroom. He thought about his day as he stripped out of his uniform and shoved it into the ‘fresher. A eight hours in sickbay, most of it spent cataloguing medical equipment and reading about the Bolian lymphatic system, followed by a full shift on the bridge doing nothing but sitting and staring at the helm console. He was beat but if he hadn’t been due back on the bridge in under eight hours he might go to the gym, work out some kinks. His long, sedentary day had left him feeling sluggish and a little spacy, and he felt the need to move, get his blood pumping again. He knew the better plan was to get a full, uninterrupted, six hours of sleep. 

He stepped into the sonic shower—he didn’t have the rations for a water shower though he longed for one—and curled his lip. He probably should have dropped by B’Elanna’s quarters and seen what he could do to mend their argument, but he wasn’t entirely sure she would have let him in or if she’d even be up. She started beta shift tomorrow—today, he thought ruefully—but she’d been up bright and early this morning, and she’d already looked tired when he’d gone to see her in engineering at lunch time. Besides, he got the feeling that she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him for cancelling their plans this evening, not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

He’d shared lunch with Harry, his mind still rolling over the argument with B’Elanna. He’d picked at his food to the point where Harry had commented on his lack of appetite. Tom had just shrugged and said he’d grab something later. In an act of mystifying kindness the Doc had let him go twenty minutes early, so he’d grabbed a snack in the mess before he’d reported to the bridge. Ayala had replaced him for ‘lunch’ at 21:00, but by then his stomach had decided it was far too late to eat anything, so he’d only had a mug of Neelix’ latest version of coffee. By the time 22:30 rolled around, he was starving again. 

He thought about cancelling the order he’d programmed for his aborted dinner with B’Elanna and freeing up the rations, but he was beat, and his body had moved beyond hunger. Besides, he had every intention of using those rations next week, when they were both finally back on alpha shift together. His stomach would hold out until breakfast. 

He tilted his head backwards, enjoying the sensation of the hot air caressing his shoulders and lower back, easing the tension in his muscles and lifting away a day’s worth of grime and stale sweat. His eyes had closed, and he realized he was rocking on his feet, swaying a little. Time to hit the sack. 

He’d forgotten to grab a tee shirt and boxers before his shower so he stood in front of the sink naked as he stared at his reflection: eyes puffy and a little bloodshot, lines around his mouth. Even his hair seemed to droop. He reached for his toothbrush and paused. There was a hairbrush on the shelf over the sink, a couple of longish dark hairs wound around the bristles. A tentative smile tugged at his mouth. A second toothbrush was standing beside his own, red instead of grey. He looked toward the door and he opened his mouth, almost called out then, but decided to wait. To let the moment while B’Elanna was, indeed, waiting for him somewhere in his quarters stretch, before he left the bathroom and confirmed it either way. 

When he was done with his teeth, he ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it and grabbed his robe from the hook beside the shower. If she were waiting for him, she might only want to talk about their fight and might not appreciate him coming out stark naked. 

He walked slowly through his living room—no B’Elanna on the couch—and paused to glance toward his sleeping area. He could just make her out in the glow from the orange lights above his bed. She was sitting up with the covers pooled in her lap and a padd in her hand, wearing the white nightgown he’d given her on their anniversary. She was staring at him, watching him as he closed the distance between the dining table and the bed. He couldn’t hold back his grin. “Hi,” he said. “You look comfortable.”

“I am,” she said.

“I couldn’t help but notice a second toothbrush in my bathroom.” He raised an eyebrow in a question. 

“Well, I thought it might look odd if I walk through the corridors carrying it every time I stay over.” 

Tom smiled. His eye was caught by a small rucksack carelessly tossed onto the chair in the corner of the room. From the way it was puckered and folded in upon itself, he suspected it was empty. He wondered if there was a uniform with gold shoulders hanging in his closet. 

“Do you know you have eight vests?” she asked. 

Tom grinned at that. 

She reached toward him and grasped the dangling end of the belt of his bathrobe and pulled it taut. “A bow? Is there a present for me in there?” 

He had tied the belt around his waist in a careless loop, and his mouth split in a grin as she tugged him closer to the edge of the bed. “Yeah,” he said. “Want to unwrap it?” 

She grinned back, but let the belt fall from her fingers. “Why don’t you sit down and have some dinner first?” 

She scooted over to the other side of the mattress and pointed to his bedside table. Sure enough, there was a chafing dish there beside a stack of padds. He raised an eyebrow and slanted a glance at her, but she only smiled. 

Tom released the seal and immediately the scent of pepperoni and cheese and warm, yeasty bread hit his nose. “Pizza!” 

“I thought you might be hungry since you missed dinner.” 

He climbed onto the bed and placed the dish in his lap, then grabbed a slice from the small pie. He halted it on the way to his mouth to offer it to B’Elanna, but she shook her head. His teeth cut through the melted cheese, and the flavour hit his tongue. Delicious! Crispy, chewy crust, spicy meat, just the right amount of sauce. The cheese pulled and stretched in long, pale strings, dipping toward the bedclothes in a wide arc that left his chin greasy and smeared with red sauce. He bit through the stringy cheese, and looped the cut ends back up onto the slice, then licked his fingers. B’Elanna reached over and wiped his chin with her thumb. 

He chewed and swallowed, then took another healthy bite as his hunger rose up again. As he worked his way through the small pie he debated asking the question, the phrase ‘leave well enough alone’ popping into his brain. But he wanted to know her answer. He swallowed a little bloom of anxiety along with pepperoni and crust, and just said it. “Are you planning to stay the night?” He took another bite, for cover, and slanted a glance at her.

She was watching him quietly. “I thought I would. Yes.” Her eyes cut toward the wall, jerked back to stare at him. 

Tom smiled, relief washing over him, happiness bubbling in his chest. 

“I mean,” she continued, “I’m on beta shift starting tomorrow and I didn’t want to go a whole week without spending time with you. If that’s still okay.” 

“Yeah, it’s more than okay. That would be great.” 

“Good.” 

He held her gaze for a moment, then turned and placed the empty plate on his bedside table. He was about to pop the last bite of pizza in his mouth when she spoke again. 

“Can I have a taste?” 

“Sure.” He offered her the last of the slice, but she took his wrist and pushed his hand out of the way as she leaned closer and kissed him, deep and sweet. Tom slid his arm around her waist and his fingers bunched in the soft silk of her nightgown. He shifted on the bed, tossing the abandoned pizza toward his nightstand, not really caring if it landed on the plate or the floor. She was still kissing him, fumbling with the belt of his robe with one hand, and pushing it off his shoulder with the other. He brushed her hair off of her cheek and pulled back to smile at her. 

“I like making up with you,” he said. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, “almost makes the arguing worth it.” 

Tom kissed a trail down her throat and shoulder, and nudged the strap of her nightgown aside with his nose. “I like arguing with you, too.”

She laughed. “Tom, stop talking. We have to wake up in six hours.” 

“We?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I thought I’d get up with you.”

He shook his head and frowned, confused. “You don’t want to sleep in?” 

She just smiled. “I’d rather have breakfast with you in the mess hall before you start your shift.”

“Oh.” Tread cautiously, he thought. “Want me to save you a seat?”

“No. I thought we’d go in together.” 

His face scrunched in confusion. “You’re not afraid people will think we…” He gestured to the bed.

“...think we made up?” 

She kissed him again, winding her fingers in his hair and tugging until he tilted his head sideways. Her teeth sank into his lower lip gently biting before releasing it, then she nipped a path down his throat and back up to the point of his jaw. He pushed her onto her back and smiled at her, love for her pooling in his belly and clouding his brain. As he leaned over her to kiss her again, she stopped him, her fingertips resting gently against his mouth. 

“If you have time tomorrow at lunch do you want to play a few games of ping pong?”

“Table tennis? I…” His face scrunched up again. “Sure. I guess so.” 

“Good. It’s a date.”

This time, she didn’t stop him when he leaned down to kiss her.


End file.
